The Exiled
by idiosyncraticWordsmith
Summary: Five years after the end of the Jedi Civil War, a Jedi Knight, exiled from the Order, and broken by the Mandalorian Wars, returns to find himself caught in a losing war against shadows. With him, though, are fellow outcasts, who each come to shine in moments of greatness. These are the stories of those people and moments. These are the stories of The Exiled. Short story anthology.
1. Prologue: Exile, Part I

The Exile and the Choice

_The Exiled, Prologue: Exile, Part I_

A room of Jedi on Coruscant filled with words as the noise of the planet hushed to listen.

Revan and Malak, who organized this gathering in a private chamber of the Temple, stood in the center of the circular auditorium. Those who came, who were at least a few dozen in number, perhaps over a hundred, were gathered around in the seating area, listening to the two knights' words. A wide diversity of Masters and Knights - and even some Padawans - were collected. Iridonians, Twi'leks, Rodians, humans, of course, and a few other races. But among them was one Jedi in particular - a Knight, one whispered to be given a Padawan sometime soon, who sat in rapt attention. He had light brown hair, and a youthful air. He was skilled, but not overly experienced.

This Jedi - this man - had a choice to make.

In the ancient tradition of old Jedi gatherings in private - from the time of the Great Schisms, when the Dark Jedi were first cast out of the Order - those who were granted the authority to speak to the gathering held their lightsabers up to show that they were the focus of the moment. Malak's blue blade glowed, adding its light to the dim ambience. Only the center, where they stood, was directly lit. The Jedi gathered sat in shadows, and listened to words of war.

"As we speak, hundreds of people in the Outer Rim are dying. Worlds are burning. By the time we walk away from this room, the Mandalorians will have put a hundred thousand men to their graves and enslaved thrice as many children - if not more." Malak reported. His voice had always been somewhat thin and airy and quiet, but the words it carried were like ashes on a light wind. The Jedi were trained to resist strong emotions and passions, but they were also trained to have compassion and empathy. The thought of such death riled the Padawans, and even some Masters seemed to shift uncomfortably. The youthful Knight felt a surge of something - not anger, but drive. He did not feel enraged or bitter, only determined to do something. He listened as Malak went on.

"The Republic is doing everything in its power to combat this threat, but at this moment, and likely every moment after, it isn't enough. They lack leaders and manpower. The Mandalorians outman, outgun, and outmatch them. For every Mandalorian that fights, three or more Republic soldiers fall. They are warriors and killers, and they will fight and slaughter until they have torn the Republic down from Coruscant itself. And perhaps then, the Council will decide to act." Malak continued. Many Jedi, including the young Knight, were distraught by the Council's decision not to intervene in the war - as keepers of the peace and protectors of the Republic, it made little sense to many that they would allow war to rage and the Republic to suffer. But the Council's will was law in the Order - to defy it would be to risk being expelled from the Order. And many Jedi put faith in the wisdom of the Council. So it seemed likely to everybody that the Jedi would largely remain out of the war.

Until Revan and Malak decided that the Jedi Code didn't require obedience.

The audience in the chamber looked around and murmured among themselves, discussing Malak's words. He went on.

"It is the Council's decision that we should wait here, in our temples and enclaves and sanctuaries, and allow the war to rage. It is the Council's decision that patience and forethought is more valuable than the innocent lives we were sworn to protect. It is the Council's decision… but not ours." Malak continued, but now, Revan stepped forward, and the blue of Malak's lightsaber disappeared, and the bright yellow of Revan's own blade shot forth, basking the room in its golden light. The murmurs stopped. Revan had a presence that demanded attention, and his words rung of authority.

"Malak and I have chosen to disregard the Council's wishes for us to remain out of this war. We will respect the wisdom of the Council and the loyalty of those who stay and obey, but we respectfully defy that loyalty to serve a higher call: The call to arms in the Rim. As Malak has said, innocent blood, and the blood of soldiers desperately trying to save those innocents, is being spilled by the barrel. We, as Jedi, have a duty - an _obligation _\- to stop that bleeding. To free the children. To save the mothers and fathers. To give hope to the hopeless. We should, and _must_, and _will_, combat the darkness of the Mandalorians, as the Jedi have fought the darkness of the galaxy since our Order's birth. Already, thousands of our brothers and sisters answer our call across the galaxy. It is here, now, that we take our plea to all of you - the Masters and Knights who show the most promise to serve as the leaders of our armies and commanders of our forces. You are needed out there, on the field, my fellows. You are needed where the fight is. Where the blood is. Where the enemy is." Revan declared. The hall echoed with his words. The congregation stared at him raptly. The young Knight felt his inner warrior's spirit stir.

"You are needed." He repeated. "Will you answer our call?"

With that, he switched his lightsaber off, and the room was plunged back into its dusky lighting.

A few moments passed. The room was in silence, the Jedi looking around at one another, waiting to see who the first would be to answer Revan's words. The young Knight wished to speak first, but hesitation and nerves held him back. To speak with total honesty and pledge himself would be so final, so total. He was sure of himself, but… not enough so.

The first to answer, then, was an Iridonian Master. His saber shot forth emerald green light, and the room turned to see him. Master Kabral Kei-ran, the young Knight knew.

"You call us to war - and with great justification - but we must consider the results of our actions. The Council will be enraged, and who knows - we may only march to our deaths, and the Order will be left thinned and unprepared for when the Council _does_ act. I urge you, brothers and sisters, serve the innocent and protect the weak, but be mindful in your actions."

The Jedi considered this - and the young Knight found himself more hesitant. The Council may need every Jedi available for when they move - would he be doing more harm to the war by going now? The green receded, and at once, a yellow blade shot up a ways to Kei-ran's right. This one was human - Kanri Ro, a Jedi Knight renowned for his skill as a Sentinel.

"Master Kei-ran brings valid points. But a Jedi's life is sacrifice. If the Council will not act to end the Mandalorians now, then the threat will only grow more powerful. Not even every Jedi in the galaxy could withstand the might of a Mandalorian Empire besieging the Core. So we must act now, immediately, _before_ the threat grows too great, and while the Republic still has an army for us to assist."

The words of Sentinel Ro were considered among the congregation. The young Knight was influenced once more by the words brought forth - words he was much more eager to hear. "A Jedi's life is sacrifice", a saying which he had not heard before, resonated especially with him, and it was a saying which he could sense would remain with him for some time. Ro's blade receded, his words given, and very quickly another blade, this one blue, rose up, and the famed Twi'lek Guardian, Mala Kamala, Master to many of the other Guardians in the room, presented himself to the assembly.

"Kanri Ro, your former master was a dear friend of mine. He and I disagreed on many things, and I, admittedly, feared for your training, believing that your spirit would be doused by his reactive teachings. But it pleases me to see that your words still carry the same youthful wisdom as they did when you were but a youngling. If what our hosts say is true - that, already, our brothers and sisters on worlds away from Coruscant are gathering under their banner - then they will need leadership. They will need men and women able to inspire and organize. They will need _us_. My fellows, if the words of our brothers is true, then they have an army to march with as things stand. If we refuse to take the command they offer, we will allow those who march without us to march to death, and their blood will be as much on our hands as the Mandalorian's."

Master Kamala returned his blade to his belt, and now many Knights in the room - mostly the Guardians, the young Knight noticed - were nodding approvingly. Master Kamala carried much sway over his sect, almost as much as Master Kavar himself. Another blade shone out, this time, green. Counselor Kekil Maro, a respected Knight among the most peaceful of the Jedi sects, stood, and the young Knight waited to hear the words "peace", "obedience", and "patience" be drilled into his skull for the hundredth time by the woman. She was a companion of his repeatedly, and they had debated the Council's decree of nonintervention since it had first been given.

"Many know of the pursuit of nonviolent resolution which the Jedi Counselors are known for. Many know that my sect desires to seek solutions of peace and mutual understanding. Many of my brothers and sisters of Counselors have spoken in defence of the Council, often at ends with our fellows, the Guardians."

The young Knight saw many people reach for their own lightsabers, preparing already to be the first to speak up after Counselor Maro. He gripped his own hilt - he knew her best, and he already knew how to counter her words of peace.

"But, this is not a time which peace can reign over."

Confused glances were exchanged - the young Knight relaxed his grip on the hilt of his lightsaber. Was she doing what he thought she was doing?

"The Mandalorians are a proud people of warriors. They were once led by the Sith, as many of you know. They thirst for battle, hunger for war, and seek strife and combat wherever they go. To them, atrocity is sport. To them, death is an everyday aspect of life. To them, slaughter is honor. They will hear no talk of peace, no words of negotiation. They will kill, they will destroy, and raze and pillage and burn, until they have taken the galaxy for themselves. Therefore, I urge you all - take up arms. Raise up your lightsabers, as did the Knights of old, and strike at the darkness."

Just as Kekel's blade retreated, another green blade erupted, and an elderly Master Kokoo Puuncho stood, an old Kel Dor who had trained a dozen Counselors - including Kekel. His word carried great weight among Counselors, and other Jedi always respected their seniors' wisdom. The young Knight could tell that Master Puuncho was displeased with his former Padawan's change of stance, and could sit silent no more.

"Listen to you all! Discussing treason and betrayal as if though you were all conspiring Sith Lords! The Council has given their strictest of orders to leave the war be - the Jedi are _peacekeepers_, not _warriors_. It is our duty to defend the defenseless, not battle the attackers. Such is the way of the Sith! If we go to war against these Mandalorians, we risk exposing ourselves to the dark side of the Force, and giving into our anger and hate! This, I cannot allow. I expected the youth of our Order to grumble and moan when denied their chance at battle, but to rise up in open defiance of the Council, and among their number, my fellow Masters! It brings me shame and sorrow to see even you, Kekel, my own Padawan, speaking such… such heresy! And furthermore -"

At this point, although the Master had not sheathed his blade, two more erupted. To draw one's lightsaber in such a meeting while another was speaking was to challenge them and their right to speak - insulting, at the least, and grounds for a duel at worst. Master Puuncho, obviously, was not one to challenge. As a Jedi Master and an elder, such an act would be viewed by traditionalistic Jedi to be impudent (though younger Jedi may view it as only fair). But with two sabers drawn, those who had challenged his words would decide between the two of them who would be the prime challenger and who merely backed his challenge.

One blade was yellow, and shone its golden light out once more - Revan himself had stepped himself forward to dispute what the Master was saying. The room stared at him, but quickly, their eyes shifted to see the other blade which had erupted. A blade not too unique, at that - yellow in color, as well, yet it was the blade of a Jedi with a great destiny lying before them. A Jedi who would alter the course of history. A Jedi who commanded as much respect as naturally as Revan himself.

The golden blade of the young Knight.

Revan and the Knight looked at one another, noticing that they had both drawn their blades. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see who would do what. The Knight was sure that Revan would not back down, and that the wisest choice would be to lower his blade down from a ready to an idle stance to show he was merely backing. But just as his stance began to relax, something unexpected happened: Revan relaxed into an idle stance.

"I back our brother's challenge."

The room's eyes all laid on the young Knight. Known as a Sentinel with talent in both combat and the Force, and with a knack for persuasion and technology, his golden crystal showed his preference for the versatile nature of the Sentinels. Nobody knew what this Knight was going to say - obviously, he would stand against Master Puuncho, but what he would advocate was unknowable. But with Revan backing him, anything he said would carry authority twofold. The Knight looked around, then focused his attention on Puuncho.

"Master Puuncho," He started, "You say it is our duty to defend the defenseless. Who, I beseech of your great wisdom, is more defenseless than the orphaned child? Who, within the depths of your elder mind, is more powerless than the unarmed father? Who, by your venerable word, is more exploitable than the very people the Mandalorians slaughter? You forewarn us of the dark side - but are we not Jedi? Are we not trained to resist such passions? Fall we sometimes do, but it is our life's work to combat darkness. To cower and quake in fear of it in our temples is to forfeit everything we believe. You say we conspire like Sith, but is it more like the Sith to conspire to save those we otherwise would leave to die, or to let the weak be massacred by the butchers of the Rim? I would rather fall in battle, protecting the weak, defending the innocent, than to let them fall because I was too afraid of the looming dark."

The Knight rose his saber up above his head, like a torch.

"This blade rises up now to burn away that darkness. I swear myself to Revan's cause. I take his banner up. I pledge myself to lead his men and fight his battles. Until the Mandalorians are defeated and the galaxy is safe once more, and peace is returned, I so swear this all. All of you, brothers, sisters, Guardians, Sentinels, Counselors, Knights, Masters, rise up now, rise up and shine your light forth, and strike back against the slaughtering dark!" He exclaimed.

For a moment, the room sat silent, and Puuncho shifted his saber into a low fighting stance, as if preparing to challenge the Knight to a duel. But after a few beats of stillness, another saber lit up - Kekel's green. It rose up into the air, as the Knight's was. Then another blue saber, and then a collection of others, and a few more, until finally, only Master Puuncho and two others remained with their sabers not above their heads. The room was filled with a chromatic field of light and color now, and not a shadow remained. Malak drew his own blue blade, and, with Revan, rose it up. Master Puuncho, irritated, bitter, and beaten, withdrew his blade.

"So be it." He said, "If you all will go forth in your foolishness, I will not strike at you. But the Council's ire will be great… great, indeed…"

With that, Puuncho excused himself, and left. His two fellows hesitated, and one of them drew his green blade and rose it. The other paused a moment, and joined. The room was in agreement. Revan spoke again, with all the lightsabers still held aloft.

"We are agreed, then. Collect your belongings. There shall be transport tomorrow to take us away from Coruscant and to the rendezvous point. We will meet with our brothers and sisters in arms soon. There, we will discuss command and strategy."

The lightsabers receded, and were belted, and the Jedi departed. As the young Knight of the golden blade began leaving, he was held by Revan, who cut him off.

"I was hoping to hear you speak, friend." He said, smiling.

"I was thinking you'd take it over… you're the renowned leader." The Knight mentioned, smiling back.

"Please, you're the one who rallied them all together. It takes true leadership to do something like that. Leadership we sorely need." Revan smiled and patted him on the shoulder, Malak smiling approvingly behind him.

"Glad to have you on board… General."

And with that, the Knight's choice - the General's choice - was made.

He was going to war.


	2. Part One: Handmaiden

An Oathbreaker and An Outcast

_The Exiled, Part One: Handmaiden_

An empty hall echoed with silence as the cold air of Telos' north held its breath.

The white-robed Jedi - was she a Jedi? Could she claim such a title already? - entered, carrying her lightsaber on the belt of her voluminous robing. It was alien to her, wearing these robes so openly, so readily. She knew she had to walk with confidence and strength, but she could not help but feel anxious, and even afraid. Was the old woman telling the truth? Was he… truly…? She had brought her here, hardly even thinking. All she desired was to return here, return to Atris, her sisters, seek… what, exactly? What was she seeking? Absolution? How could she seek absolution now, when she's broken her oath so readily, so greatly? Vengeance, perhaps? No, vengeance was not the Jedi way. But, her mentor had not seemed to follow the Jedi way as strictly as others might have, and her own feelings for him were… not well-aligned with the Jedi way. But no, vengeance… vengeance was too much. What would she even be seeking vengeance for? Her sisters had done nothing, nor had Atris.

Perhaps she was not seeking anything at all.

Perhaps she simply wished to return to what had been her home, and see what the Force had in store for her.

Footsteps echoed from all around, as the myriad approaches and entrances to the council chamber were paid a visit by other figures, all of them women. In the simple white garb of the Handmaidens of Atris, her sisters surrounded her. The glares in their eyes did not speak of welcome.

"The Last of the Handmaidens has returned to us at last." One of them spat.

"It is good that you have returned. You have _much_ to answer for." Another one said, more even-headed, but still with veiled malice.

"What are you saying?" The Last Handmaiden asked, frightened at her sisters' reactions to her.

"You have betrayed us. You have betrayed Atris." One accused.

"You are no longer one of us. You followed the Jedi, betrayed your oath!" Another arraigned.

It all seemed clear to her now. She had been betrayed. On all fronts, she had been betrayed. The old woman, Kreia, had a greater purpose to coming to Telos. Atris had already surrounded herself with her ancient relics of darkness. Only a nudge and a push, and…

"Listen to me, Atris has been touched by the Sith, but it is not too late to-"

"_Silence_." One of her sisters demanded.

"It is a crime to kill blood. But _not_ a betrayer such as you." Another snarled.

"I _will not fight you!"_ She cried out.

"Then you shall _fall_." Another sister snapped.

With that, words fell to the sound of weapons being drawn, and the double-bladed lightsaber came forth from her belt, extending its cyan blade out. She had been trained with double-bladed weapons before, and with her mentor's guidance, she found that even the mythic plasma blade of the lightsaber could be handled similarly. Her sisters approached, and through her new sensitivity to the Force, she could feel their movements coming before they came. She considered the situation, frightened. She was surrounded and outnumbered, and she had never been the greatest among her sisters. She could only hope that her training had made her strong enough.

One of her sisters brought her Echani staff to bear, the cortosis bouncing off the lightsaber blade before more approached to add to the fray. The Handmaiden fought with all her training to defend herself, using the Force to predict the movements she needed to make to block, parry, dodge, but she could not bring herself to counter. These were her sisters; She could not bring herself to kill them. It was not a fair fight, she realized. A Jedi desperately trying to do no harm, surrounded by five Echani warriors with no intent less than murder. She searched herself in a panic, desperately trying to find some bit of wisdom from her training to guide her.

She realized in an instant what had to be done.

She twirled her blade about, forcing her sisters to block the dangerous blades and back away defensively. When they were out of striking distance, the Handmaiden held her blade horizontally above her, and retracted it into its hilt before returning it to her belt. She spread her stance again, assuming the unarmed stance of the Echani warriors. This was her test. This was her chance to prove herself worthy of the title Jedi. Anybody could learn to wield a lightsaber, and some, the Force.

But she would not kill. She would not strike down her sisters.

"Surrendering yourself to justice? So be it, betrayer!" One of her sisters taunted before charging forth with her staff. The Handmaiden deftly sidestepped her attack, gripping the staff with perfected timing before giving a strong shove to her sister's back, propelling her forward with greater force, enough to pry her hands away from the staff. The Handmaiden twirled around with the staff in her hands to face the next attacker coming upon her from behind, before she dropped the newly acquire weapon to use her forearm to parry an incoming strike, swiftly using inertia, not blocking the staff coming down on her but redirecting it away from her body and into the ground. Her assailant was bent over, and she took that to her advantage by swiftly bringing an elbow out to connect with the attacker's face, sending her back.

The Echani spun around just in time to meet her next two attackers, before ducking beneath and rolling away from both of their attacks. She allowed one to strike again before gripping her staff, shoving it forward, and then yanking it back to her, not quite disarming her opponent, but bringing her off-balance enough to cause the same action repeated more rapidly to pry the staff from her and send her into the ground. The delay in fully disarming her opponent made her timing for blocking the next attack just barely quick enough, using the staff she had just procured to block her opponent's, before sending the enemy's weapon off of hers, twirling around to build inertia, and sweeping her adversary's legs, sending her into the ground. The Handmaiden sensed a sister approaching from behind, and twirled, whacking her would-be aggressor directly in the head, sending her onto the ground, unconscious from the staff blow.

Her confidence rising still greater, the Handmaiden turned to her other sisters, of which four were still standing now. One of them, her first attacker, had just recovered and was moving to reclaim her weapon. The Echani warrior gracefully sprinted forward and delivered a swift kick to her sister's face, strong enough to send her back, but not enough to render her unconscious. She turned to her other three sisters, who struck in tandem. The Handmaiden managed to dodge and parry two attacks, but her third attempt was met with failure, earning her a powerful strike to her hip. The faint sound of cracking told her that her pelvis was damaged, and the pain confirmed it. But she would not stop; She, for the first time, struck in the pure offensive. She deftly struck into an opponent's sides before kicking into her gut and bringing her elbow down upon the back of her sister's head, smashing her into the floor, where she remained.

Her other two sisters were joined by her recovered first attacker, who had regained her staff. The Handmaiden regarded them with trepidation; they had underestimated her, but for how much longer would that stand true? Her hip languished, and her limbs were beginning to defy her in exhaustion. She could no longer safely stand against her remaining sisters. They were battered, but not exhausted. They needed only to wear her down. She could not expect to win at this point. Not without drawing her blade and risking their deaths.

_No…_ she thought. _That is not an option. Nothing which ends in death is an option._

As her adversaries approached, ready for the kill, an idea struck the Handmaiden. She had been fighting as an Echani would; unarmed, with honor. But she had forgotten one of the first lessons her master had taught her:

_When you walk the path of the Force, you become something greater than you were before. Jedi, Sith, or even something else… the Force sensitives of the galaxy, once they unlock their potential, are, as a rule, a cut above whatever path of life they lived before._

She was no mere Handmaiden anymore.

She was a Jedi.

She focused herself, centering her energy, and channeled the Force energies surrounding all living things. She drew her arm back, storing the energy into her hand, and just as her opponents charges, she pushed forth, sending the Force power rushing forth, pushing her sisters hard, slamming them into the wall, each of them falling to the ground, knocked out from the force of the impact. Overjoyed at her success (having never managed to execute such a powerful Push before), the Handmaiden approached her sisters, a smile on her face, pride and confidence exuding from her. One of her sisters looked up at her, her strength expended in a few final words before falling into unconsciousness.

"You… are _not_… _one of us…_"

"No. I am above blind loyalty."

"I am a Jedi!" The Handmaiden cried out, as almost a victory cheer.

"A Jedi, are you?" A familiar voice called out from behind. The condescension, the loathing, the _hatred_… it could only be-

"Atris." The Handmaiden almost whispered as she turned to face her former mistress. All her confidence faltered. Here stood Atris, her former mistress, her former master, the last Jedi.

No. The last Jedi to _fall_.

She seemed to size up the Handmaiden like a predator examining prey. "You are a fool if you think yourself a Jedi. You have followed _his_ teachings. You are no more a Jedi than I am a smuggler. But betrayal is not a matter of results. It is a matter of _intent_."

"Atris, please. Do not give in to the Dark Side, you must-"

"Silence, Handmaiden. I will not hear your words. I will not suffer hearing your _voice_ any further. You have betrayed me. Betrayed me in every way. And I shall make you _suffer_ for it." Atris seethed.

She drew her lightsaber, glowing red now, and moved with Force-imbued haste to strike. It was by reflex and fortune that the Handmaiden drew her own blade in time to defend herself, but Atris was much more powerful than her sisters. She struck with haste and precision, and while the Handmaiden managed to keep herself alive, blow after blow made contact, tearing her robes and searing her flesh. She managed to wear Atris down enough to scar her arm, but this only enraged her. She lashed out with the Force, sending the Handmaiden hurdling back with great force into the wall, but not enough to knock her out. Atris held her Force grip around the Handmaiden's neck, enough to choke her, but not to asphyxiate her. True to her word, the fallen Master intended to make her suffer.

"_Enough." _Atris uttered. "I shall not even stand to give you the pleasure of combat. I shall not stand anything less than your agony!"

With that, Atris sent her former handmaid into the ground before her, and even allowed her to begin standing as she coughed from the chokehold. But just as she reached her knees, Atris released a thunderbolt of Force lightning onto her victim, sending her back and spasming from pain.

"Did you _love_ him? Did you harbor _feelings_ for him? Did you think he would _return them? _That he would _love __**you**__?"_ Atris demanded.

"_There is no love in his heart! He is a creature of __**hatred**__ and __**war**__! _He belongs to _me! __**Me!**_And I shall make you _suffer_ for the _arrogance _of thinking him to be _yours!_" Atris spewed out, boiling in rage.

With each new sentence came a new bout of lightning, a new round of torture, a fresh set of tears and cries of anguish, and among those, cries of heartbreak. She was right. The Exile didn't return her feelings. How could she think otherwise? She loved him, so dearly. He was so precious to her, she wanted to mend his wounds, both of the flesh and on his soul, she wished to follow him all across the galaxy...

But Atris was right. There was no way. And now she realized too late why she came here: In the hopes that he would come for her. She knew somehow that this would happen. And she hoped that he would come, no matter what Kreia had said, to save her. It was unbecoming of an Echani to do such a thing, to bait another to save you, but she didn't care. She would live with the shame if she could live with him.

But now it was too late. She would die, here, beneath the ice of a broken world, alone and afraid.

"Atris. Enough."

The voice somehow made the room quieter as it rang and hung in the air.

"Impossible…" Atris whispered under her breath.

"You shall not harm her any further. She has done nothing. Your quarrel is with me."

"Is that so? Have you come to save her, then? To rescue your little apprentice?" Atris spat.

"Yes. And I have come to save you, if I can."

"I cannot be saved, you know that. I will be held back no longer. The Dark Side is my path. Nothing can stop that from being true any longer." Atris explained, almost resigned.

"We both know that nobody is beyond redemption."

"Silence! I shall not allow you to lecture me! I shall not allow you to stand here, insulting me with your very existence!" She cried out. From her state of near-unconsciousness, the Handmaiden could almost swear she heard tears in her former mistress' voice.

"I have no wish to fight you, Atris."

"Then you shall die with ease! You execution is long overdue, _Exile_!" Atris exclaimed, moving forth with her speed again to strike.

But the Exile was much better off than his apprentice; he drew his dual lightsabers with haste and ease, blocking Atris' red blade and parrying it away before engaging in the duel. It seemed as if Atris couldn't even touch him, while he was pushing her to her absolute limits just to avoid amputation. As if to prove a point, the Exile almost contemptuously released a bolt of Force lightning against Atris, sending her back all the way to the bridge leading to her personal chamber. Cut up and battered, Atris stood herself up before limping to her chamber. The Handmaiden looked up weakly to see him, just to see him, just to prove that he was there. She could only see some of him before as she lay there; never his entirety. She glanced up to watch him walk in pursuit of the fallen Jedi Master.

He was glorious.

His face was aglow with such certainty, like there was no possible chain of events but this, and that he knew what was going to happen next for a fact. He light brown hair shined under the mediocre lighting of the council hall, and his grey robes flowed and fluttered all around him as his swift and sure strides caused him to leave her sight, and she resigned herself to her prone state, content with the knowledge that her master would prevail… and that she had earned the right to the title of Jedi.

Padawan Brianna. She liked the sound of that.


End file.
